


More Than Okay

by Alanna (bayleaf)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, The Sentinel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-07-01
Updated: 2002-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 19:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bayleaf/pseuds/Alanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Kass and Justine, first for walking me up to the edge of the slippery slope that is slash and second for cheering wildly when I stepped over. Justine beta-ed above and beyond the call of duty. Kass edited this puppy into submission.</p><p>Takes place around the time of "Cypher." I forgot how that ep started, so there is a slight inconsistency. I'm sure you'll get over it.</p>
    </blockquote>





	More Than Okay

**Author's Note:**

> For Kass and Justine, first for walking me up to the edge of the slippery slope that is slash and second for cheering wildly when I stepped over. Justine beta-ed above and beyond the call of duty. Kass edited this puppy into submission.
> 
> Takes place around the time of "Cypher." I forgot how that ep started, so there is a slight inconsistency. I'm sure you'll get over it.

The call came in just as Jim was getting ready to fill up his coffee mug. The thick, murky smell of ancient coffee seared his nostrils, making him grimace.

"Ellison!"

Simon's bellow had a Monday-morning bite to it. Fortunately, if Jim's nose could be trusted, Simon had a fresh pot of Kenyan AA brewing in his office.

As he wove through the bullpen, Taggart asked if the kid was still living at his place. "I thought you said it was only for a week, Ellison," he grinned broadly. "Getting soft in your old age? Couldn't toss him out when the time came?"

Jim shrugged philosophically. "It's the eyes, Joel. Every time I bring it up, he turns those starving-student eyes on me."

He wasn't lying - it was the eyes. And the hair. And the way Blair quirked one eyebrow when he was asking a question. Not to mention his amazing, wet-dream-inducing mouth. Well, okay. So Jim had a little crush on the kid. Unfortunately, Sandburg went through women like some people went through Kleenex.

It wasn't like Jim couldn't handle an unrequited crush. He wasn't going to make an ass out of himself. Sandburg was going to teach him how to control his senses; he didn't have to know that Jim was fantasizing about him, oh, every minute of the day.

Joel snorted his appreciation. "If Sally Struthers ever wanted to start a `Save the Students' campaign, Sandburg could be the spokesperson," he said, laughing.

Jim grinned and opened the door to Simon's office as he did so. Simon had the telephone receiver to his ear and was chomping down hard on an unlit cigar.

"Yeah, I understand that," Simon was saying; he gestured for Jim to sit. "Not to worry, Bill. I'll tell my man to be discreet." He listened for a moment, said "I understand" again, and then hung up.

"That was Bill Doran, the dean at Rainier. Apparently there's been an incident at the school, possible hate crime."

"Anyone hurt?" Jim asked quickly, already mentally cursing the paperwork he'd have to fill out for the Feds.

"Just vandalism, some threatening notes, that sort of thing. No assaults, but he's concerned about it." Simon took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, continuing, "If you ask me, he just wants to cover his ass in case something worse happens later on. Wants to be able to say he went to the police."

"Who's the victim?" Jim asked.

Simon shook his head, "I don't know. He didn't give me a name over the phone. Said you could talk to campus security." He shuffled through his scrawled notes before adding, "Looks like the worst of it was actually a storage room. Hargrove Hall."

"_Hargrove_ Hall?" Jim went rigid. " Tell me it wasn't object storage room three."

"Yeah, you know it?" Simon looked surprised. "Sandburg rope you into moving crates or something?"

"Are you sure he said object storage room three?" Jim persisted. "No mistake?"

"Jim, I'm certain. What's the big deal?" Simon asked, his voice laced with concern.

"That's Sandburg's office!" Jim bolted. A minute later he was slamming through the door to the garage. He climbed into his truck and with a cacophony of screeching tires he peeled out into oncoming traffic. He ignored the blaring horns his entrance caused, intent on reaching the kid.

Okay, so Sandburg wasn't a kid. Jim knew that. Still, he couldn't help thinking of him that way, occasionally. Maybe it was a subconscious attempt to keep his crush from getting overwhelming.

Thing was, he liked Sandburg, even aside from the crush. And he'd been a lot of help, even after only six weeks. Finally, here was a way to repay the debt. Jim decided he liked the image of himself rushing to Sandburg's rescue. He pressed the accelerator down further and flicked on his siren.

Jim crossed Maple against the light and took a left onto Main that sent the truck fishtailing up onto a sidewalk before he righted it again. As Jim wrestled the pick-up under control, his thoughts went back to Sandburg. The kid was smart, with a dry wit. Good under pressure. Hopefully that would stand him in good stead now.

He careened onto University, driving on the wrong side of the road to pass a slow-moving vehicle. Jim pulled back into the right lane just in time to avoid colliding with a delivery van. He felt a jarring thud as the truck's back end connected with a parked car. He didn't even slow down. Sandburg needed him. The truck sailed over a speed bump, landed with a teeth-rattling lurch, and sped towards Hargrove Hall. He willed Sandburg to be all right.

Jim wondered how Sandburg was reacting to this. Was he crying? Possible. Blair was one of those new-age in-touch-with-his-feelings types, not afraid to show emotion. Jim wasn't good with tears, but he resolved to be there for Sandburg regardless. Or maybe the kid was in shock? He could treat _that_ in his sleep. He hoped the kid was shocky rather than crying.

He was going 75 by the time he reached Hargrove. He pulled the truck haphazardly across two parking spaces and shouldered past a small group of students as he sprinted up the granite steps. Once inside, he jogged along one dimly lit corridor and down a short staircase. He skidded around the corner, sharpening his hearing for any sign of Sandburg. He needn't have bothered.

"That's fantastic! A grassroots show of support is exactly what we need. This is huge!" Blair was saying loudly. Instead of panicky, he sounded...exhilarated. "Look, I think we should start a phone tree. Start calling churches and civic organizations in town. We need to involve the larger community if this is going to work!"

Jim slowed his pace from a flat-out run to a quick jog. His heart was still racing from adrenaline. From down the hall he could just see the spray-painted edges of a swastika. He'd expected to see something like that. Pretty much par for the course where anti-Semitic hate crimes were involved. Lines of black paint dripped down from the main image. He drew closer, and stopped suddenly as the rest of the graffiti came into view.

`Fucking Faggot' in neon green lettering stretched across the wall beside Blair's office. A crude drawing of a penis decorated the door itself. Jim saw the word `cocksucker' in at least three different places. Other than the swastika, there was only a single reference to Blair's Jewish heritage - and _that_ was something about "faggot jew." What the...?

Blair's voice went on, "Okay, I'm going to call the chairs of the GLBTA and the JSU. Why don't you take ALANA and the Women's Center? I'll call Angie - I think she knows the Student Government Association president." He paused, and Jim could distantly hear a woman's voice on the other end of the phone. After contributing a string of `uh huhs' and `yeahs,' Blair spoke again, "Who's that red-headed Journalism TA? Legs up to here? Jill, yeah. Make her the media contact. Maybe write an editorial for the _Times_ and contact the school paper." The kid was barely pausing to take a breath.

Jim turned the handle on the office door and pushed it inward. Looking around, he saw that papers were scattered on the floor around Blair's desk. Stacks of books littered every conceivable surface. It was chaos, but an undisturbed layer of dust covered everything. Jim breathed a sigh of relief. The bastards obviously hadn't made it inside.

Blair had his back to the door as Jim entered the tiny room. He was standing by the desk, receiver to his ear. "Okay okay okay," Blair said breathlessly, obviously trying to rein himself in, "Okay, we need to be organized about this. Make a list of people and organizations to contact. Umm. Let's set up a meeting. Figure this out today. Start making phone calls. What about picking a time for the rally? Wait - wait. Let's meet first and hammer this out." He stopped to take a breath and listen. He glanced at his watch and then said, "Well, it's ten o'clock now. Can you meet in half an hour?" He nodded as she answered, even though she couldn't see him. "Great. Okay, I'll see you there. I'll call some of the student leaders. Hopefully they can meet on short notice. Oh, hey, call David and see if he can make it too. Thanks." The phone call was winding down, but Blair was still bouncing on his toes. He seemed hyped up, even after he said goodbye and the phone receiver hit the cradle.

No tears. No shock. That left Blair's inexplicable excitement to deal with. Jim was on unfamiliar turf, here. Worse yet, all he could think was, "is it true? Does Sandburg do men?" That frame of mind wasn't exactly conducive to intelligent conversation, but he drew a deep breath and gave it a try.

"You okay, Sandburg?" Jim asked. Blair jerked as though shot and whirled around with a gasp.

"Jesus, Jim! You scared the shit out of me!" Blair pressed a hand to his chest. His racing heartbeat pounded loudly in Jim's ears. Blair flicked a glance at the graffiti on his open office door and then back to Jim. "What are you doing here?" he asked stiffly.

"What do you think, Chief?" Jim said. He sounded testy, even to his own ears. Hate crimes pissed him off. "Simon got a call from the Dean. He asked me to check it out."

Sandburg looked disbelieving, so Jim added, "He thinks the call was a CYA thing. Just in case the perps decide to take things a step further."

"Ah." Blair said, looking around uncomfortably.

Jim watched Sandburg closely; still grappling with this new and exciting information -someone thought Sandburg liked men. He wondered what catalyst had set the vandals off, and whether or not Sandburg really did swing both ways.

When the silence had dragged on a millisecond too long, Jim just blurted it out. He was lousy at handling stress - it made him drop his gun during confrontations with criminals and drop the conversational ball at times like this.

"So," Jim said, gesturing at the graffiti-covered wall outside, "is that true?"

He realized immediately that it was the wrong thing to say. Blair's features flattened as though he'd been physically struck. Jim quickly tried to smooth over his verbal gaffe.

"What I mean is, obviously _someone_ thinks that you're, y'know..." Blair's eyes narrowed dangerously and Jim blundered on, "and there must be some reason they came to that conclusion. Like maybe you said or did something..." By this point, Blair was broadcasting belligerence from his clenched jaw to his crossed arms. Jim floundered for a moment, and then he hit on the perfect thing to say, the thing that he was certain would put Blair at ease.

"It's okay with me if you're..." Jim began magnanimously, gesturing again at the crude letters covering the wall. He tried to sound casual and reassuring as he said these words. In truth, he was more than simply okay with it. `Thrilled' would be more accurate.

Instead of calming Sandburg down, these last words seemed to put him over the edge. The peacenik flower-child refugee from the free-love generation had left the building. In his place was an outraged stranger.

* * *

It was only ten-fifteen and already the day seriously sucked. Actually, the day had started to suck the second his clock radio had clicked on. Last week he'd been late for his 8:00 a.m. 101 twice. He was gaining a reputation as a flake and couldn't afford to be late again.

The day had continued to suck through the morning traffic, his first lousy cup of coffee, and the annoying freshman who wanted an extension for the assignment she'd had a month to complete.

And then, when he hit his office, the suckiness of the day reached new heights. He'd turned the corner to find his office door and surrounding walls covered with brightly colored invectives. All of his differences and, by extension, all of his insecurities, spray-painted on the wall for the world to see.

What could he do but call security and miss another class? Not that they'd done anything more than take his name and number.

So he'd decided to organize a pro-diversity pride rally. He was pretty psyched about it, actually; it felt like getting even with the assholes who'd redecorated the hallway. Plus, having something to do calmed him down. And after talking some people into helping organize the rally, Blair had felt less like a perpetual outsider.

And then Jim showed up.

He probably wanted to help. Which Blair generally thought was cool-just not right now. He wanted to impress Jim with his intelligence and capability, and this was not his finest hour. He wanted Jim to like him, to treat him as an equal, as a partner. He didn't want to inspire pity.

Blair hadn't figured the day could get worse, until Jim opened his damn mouth and shoved in one size-thirteen foot after the other.

"So, is that true?" Jim asked, indicating a particularly offensive cocksucking slur. The words were a sucker punch to the gut. Even though Jim was straight, he didn't strike Blair as a total homophobe. How could he equate those words with Blair's life? _God!_ It was one of the few times in his life that Blair had ever been shocked speechless.

Unfortunately, the same was not true of Jim. "You must have done or said something to make them think that," he continued.

What?! Holy shit! He had the balls to blame _Blair_ \- who was, in case anyone forgot, the fucking _victim_ here! - for provoking this attack? No way was he going to stand for that.

Jim, seeming to sense that all was not well, blandly announced that it was okay with him. That was it, the last fucking straw.

"I don't recall asking for your permission," Blair said coldly. "You wanna know if I fuck men? As a matter of fact, I do. And I don't give a rat's ass what you or anyone else has to say about that!"

"That's not what I meant!" Jim protested, raising his hands in a peace-making gesture. "I just didn't know-"

"It's none of your business anyway. What? Was I supposed to make an announcement before I moved in?"

"Chief, I didn't say -"

"Think about it! Narrow definitions of sexual identity are just hegemonic Western constructions designed to keep people in line! Most cultures have fluid concepts of sexuality that allow for the possibility of homosexual and homosocial behavior." He lifted a shaking hand to swipe at the sweat gathering on his upper lip, hoping Jim didn't notice the gesture.

Jim waved his hand, apparently trying to cut into the conversation, but Blair kept right on talking. He was in so deep now, he couldn't see how he'd get out of this mess. He figured he'd just talk his way out like always. Bravado: the weapon of champions.

"Modern Western societies are in the minority on this one. In fact," Blair put on his best lecturing voice, "anthropologists since at least the 1930s have been observing homosexual behavior in cultures all around the world. There's been tons of recent anthropological research about sexuality. Like Gilbert Herdt made an entire study of homosexual behavior among Sambia men in New Guinea and Gillian Shepherd conducted a similar study of men in Swahili communities in Mombasa."

Jim was saying something, but Blair raised his voice to drown him out. He waxed eloquent about Kinsey studies and a continuum of sexuality. He went on a tangent about bisexual people existing in the liminal space between sexual identities. He ranted about Stonewall and the sexual revolution. He sneered at "don't ask, don't tell" and the military establishment's medieval restrictions against gay soldiers.

"Tell _me_ about it!" Jim muttered.

"Jim, just forget it." Suddenly Blair was too tired to keep this going.

"I don't want to do that."

"Then what? You want me to move out?"

"_No!_ I..."

"That is such a clichd knee-jerk reaction to a perceived threat to your masculinity," Blair shouted, "And I gotta tell you, that really _sucks_, man!"

"I'M FAMILY!" Jim bellowed.

"I mean, maybe it doesn't fit in with your world view or..." The diatribe slowly trailed off. He stared at Jim.

"I'm family," Jim repeated, looking relieved now that the shouting had ended.

Family? Jim played for the home team? Well, shit. Just when it seemed like the day couldn't get any worse.

For the second time that day, Blair was at a loss for words. His loud breathing echoed in the now-quiet office. He stared at Jim and tried desperately to collect his thoughts, but the only thing his brain supplied was an annoying humming noise.

Several minutes passed before Jim finally spoke again. "Did you hear me?" he asked quietly.

After a heartbeat, Blair nodded jerkily. "Yeah," he said slowly, "I heard you." He paused again, trying to assimilate this new information. "So, um. So what does that" he twirled a hand vaguely in the air to indicate Jim's pronouncement, "mean exactly?"

Jim snorted wryly. "Offhand, I'd say it means you're preaching to the choir, Chief."

"No, I get that," Blair said, rolling his eyes. Shitshit*shit*! So much for impressing Jim with his general capability. He desperately hoped he didn't look as stupid as he was feeling. "I meant when - no, _how_?" he babbled.

"Probably something in the water, Einstein," Jim said. Blair looked at the wall. Would this day never end?

Jim mercifully chose that moment to get down to business. "Look, Chief, can we just start over?" he said. "I want to ask you some questions before you run off to raise Cascade's collective consciousness."

Blair managed to hold it together for ten minutes longer until - grateful for the respite - he escaped to his meeting.

* * *

Jim checked his watch for the twentieth time in as many minutes. Nine-thirty that night and still no sign of Sandburg. He surveyed the kitchen, feeling equal parts irritation and embarrassment at the sight. It was his night to cook, and he'd gone all out: salmon steaks, mango-ginger salsa, the works.

Their uneaten dinner looked pathetic on the table, the cold parts getting warm, the hot parts getting cold. It looked too much like a romance dinner - like he was trying too hard. Which maybe he was. And Blair was still MIA.

At 10:05 he put plastic wrap over the salad bowl and put it in the refrigerator. He thought about wrapping the plates in plastic wrap and putting them in the fridge where Blair would see them when he got home, but decided this was too passive-aggressive.

He dried the last dish and put it into the cupboard by the glowing green light of the microwave clock: 11:00. The kitchen was spotless; he'd erased all evidence of the meal.

He shook himself out of a near-zone at 11:15. He'd been absorbed in watching the moon where it shone out over the bay. It was as bright as a street lamp and the reflection rippled on the waves. Jim padded barefoot up the stairs to his room. He undressed in silence, carefully hanging his black dress-shirt and khakis on hangers. When he lay down, it was between crisp, freshly washed sheets.

He memorized the cracks in the ceiling before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

As Blair crept down the hall, he squinted at his watch. No good. His vision was blurred from exhaustion and the dial kept dancing in front of his eyes. It looked like it was a quarter-to-four but he wasn't sure. Whatever the time, it was damn close to twenty-four hours since he'd last slept. His head ached. He was beat: there was no _way_ he could string together a reasonable thought at this point.

Which is why it was finally safe to come home.

He'd spent the day trying desperately _not_ to think about the embarrassing way he'd yelled at Jim this morning. _Not_ thinking about the fact that Jim was into guys.

Despite the morning, it had turned out to be a stellar day on the productivity front. Blair had thrown himself into plans for the rally. He'd concentrated on teaching his classes, doing some research, and grading tests. Hell, he'd even polished up an article he'd been half-heartedly working on for the last ten months and sent it out to an anthropology journal.

Throughout, he tried not to hink about Jim. He felt like an idiot for yelling while Jim was   
sitting there thinking, "you're preaching to the choir, Sandburg." And he felt suddenly obligated to explain that he wasn't, couldn't be, interested in Jim. Blair went for intellectuals, not muscle men. Just because Jim was a smart guy _and_ built like a brick shithouse didn't mean Blair was interested.

And even if Blair were interested - which he totally wasn't - hopping into bed with his research subject was completely unethical and would screw his objectivity. So to speak.

He'd finally decided to go on like nothing had happened, just sort of pretend that this morning hadn't changed anything - which it hadn't, because he wasn't interested in Jim.

He slipped his key into the lock and turned it as quietly as possible. He cringed as the tumblers clicked into place. He brushed his teeth in the dark and didn't think about Jim. Walked back to his room, still not thinking about Jim. Stripped off his shirt and jeans without a single thought of Jim crossing his mind. He slipped on a t-shirt and laid down on his futon and there, in his mind's eye, was a huge Technicolor picture of Jim smiling at him. Fuck.

Well, it didn't mean anything, Blair thought. He was just thinking of Jim - a really muscle-y, _sweaty_ Jim - as a research subject. Nothing more. Jim was totally not his type.

Blair flipped onto his side. Fortunately the slide show in his brain was no match for his exhaustion.

* * *

"Come on, man!" Blair was yelling, "I'm _open_!" His voice echoed from the concrete walls and high, steel-beamed ceiling.

This, Jim thought as he caught the basketball a teammate passed to him, was a load of bullshit. The kid was anything but open. These days he ran hot and cold. Sure, as long as they didn't talk about anything personal Sandburg was his easy-going, witty self. The second Jim tried to bring up the awkward situation in Blair's office, you'd think the CDC had declared conversation a plague vector.

Instead of sitting down and having a reasonable discussion, Sandburg was sending Jim all kinds of mixed messages. Every time Jim turned around, Sandburg was standing just inside his personal space. Blair constantly touched him - his arm, his back, his shoulder - to get his attention or even just to punctuate a point. Physical contact was, in Jim's opinion, a good thing.

But, just when he started to think that maybe Sandburg wanted him, the kid would flip some internal switch and start cold-shouldering him. At those times, Sandburg did everything except come right out and say he wasn't interested in Jim. He didn't invite Jim to the rally, which had been a huge success from all reports. Barely even talked about the damn thing - just said it was "good" and there was a "great turnout."

Blair had hemmed and hawed when Jim had asked him questions pertaining to the vandalism. Every bit of evidence Jim managed to collect - like the newspaper article that named Sandburg as one of the co-founders of the GLBTA - surfaced without Sandburg's assistance. When no leads and no new information came to light after a week, Simon ordered Jim to sign off on the case.

Blair stopped coming to the station every day. He said he was busy with grading and writing papers and such, but Jim just didn't believe that. After all, the kid had plenty of time to date. Women. He went out with a new girl practically every night. Which, when Jim was being honest with himself, he had to admit was part of what was bugging him, too.

But the worst of it was the touching. Or lack of it. Sandburg alternated between standing a hair too close to Jim and barely making eye contact. Sometimes Sandburg jumped away when Jim touched him, flinching as though he couldn't stand it. Clearly the kid was trying to tell him something - and it wasn't a declaration of undying love, either. The problem was, he wasn't sure exactly what Sandburg _was_ trying to tell him.

Sometimes he wasn't sure Sandburg knew, either.

It felt like Sandburg was yanking him around. Jim's emotions yo-yoed with each Sandburg personality switch. When the kid was all over him, Jim was way up. When Sandburg was brushing him off, Jim came back to earth. This last week had been a study in frustration. Not the good kind.

He could take a hint. He stopped trying to talk to Blair about his interest in men. He took pleasure in simple things like cooking dinner together. He boxed up his crush, dropped a lid on it and nailed it shut. He'd just settle for a nice, comfortable friendship.

Jim ignored Blair's shouts and dribbled the ball. He enjoyed the sound of it smacking against the varnished wood floor of the court. A guy from the other team rushed him, forcing him to swivel away. He felt his quads bunching, his calves stretching as he turned. He threw out an arm to keep his opponent from reaching the ball and his chest flexed with the effort. He could hear his heartbeat, reassuringly steady, in his ears. He drew in a deep breath. The oxygen reaching his brain was like a hit of nicotine.

God, he loved this game. Loved the effort it took to play, the way it worked his body. Loved the camaraderie between his teammates; the way they worked together to defeat the enemy reminded him of Chopec scouting parties. There was something basic, something primal about basketball.

He sent his hearing spiraling out to where his opponents were stalking the ball. His fellow skins had their guys covered - nothing to worry about there. He turned his attention to the guard standing behind him. This guy, this _shirt_, was on him like white on rice. Every move Jim made, his opponent shadowed. Jim moved like he was going to make a break for it, and the shirt immediately moved to intercept. Jim faked a pass to the right. The guy went for it, reaching around to block the move. Jim turned sharply and threw the ball to Sandburg. The shirt struggled to recover, stretching towards the ball. It skimmed his fingertips and kept right on going.

Sandburg palmed the ball, slid neatly around his guard, and dribbled towards the basket. Jim admired the kid's form - had he mentioned that he loved this game? - as he went into a lay-up. Sandburg pushed off with his front foot, stepped up into empty air and tipped the ball into the net. It trembled on the rim for the briefest second before *shush*ing through.

That was it: best two out of three. The skins broke into cheers. Jim whooped triumphantly and jogged over to Sandburg. The kid was bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, gasping for breath and smiling.

"Nice shot, Chief," Jim said, slapping the kid on the back. He left his palm on Sandburg's warm, sweat-slick skin. He savored the feel of Sandburg's ribcage swelling with each inhalation. Jim's hand - hell, his entire arm - tingled from the sensation. Touching Sandburg's bare skin was like...like nothing Jim had ever experienced. This tiny, impersonal contact had him soaring.

He tried telling himself that Sandburg was unavailable, that his disinterest was really no different now than it was when Jim thought the kid was straight. He wasn't buying. It was different. Now that he knew the kid liked _some_ guys - just not Jim - he couldn't help but take it personally. What did other guys have that he didn't have? On the other hand, Jim was still smarting from some of the things Carolyn said during their break-up, not to mention the last time they'd gone to dinner; he wasn't sure he wanted to know what Sandburg thought he lacked.

Jim was grateful that he'd never told Sandburg about his crush. At least he was spared the indignity of hearing Blair stammer out a polite refusal.

"Thanks, man," Sandburg panted. He was wearing a smug shit-eating grin. His hair -tied at the nape of his neck - was shiny and wet at the temples. Sweat ran in rivulets down his sides and trickled slowly down one cheek. Jim watched a single salty drop slide across a patch of dark stubble. He allowed his eyes to drift to the solid line of Blair's jaw, his open lips...

Blair cleared his throat, causing Jim to jump. Right. No staring. He could handle it.

He cast around for something to take his attention off the fascinating crisp black hairs curling on Sandburg's winter-white chest and the sexy sound of Sandburg panting. His eyes fell on the heap of duffel bags and discarded shirts by the gym door.

"I'm going to get a drink," Jim said before Blair could speak. "You want some water?" he asked. Sandburg nodded and let his head droop again, still gasping for breath.

Jim made his way through a cluster of players to his duffel bag. He unzipped it and pulled out a clear wide-mouth Nalgene bottle full of spring water. He unscrewed the plastic cap and raised the bottle to his lips, glancing at Blair as he did so. He nearly choked.

Sandburg was staring him. Specifically, he was staring at Jim's chest.

This was new; Jim would have noticed before now if Sandburg were checking him out. The kid was all but licking his chops. The friendly pat had made him tingle; the hungry look on Sandburg's face sent a wave of heat through him. Jim shivered.

Sandburg looked up and saw Jim watching him. He froze for a moment. His face showed surprise, then embarrassment and finally he firmed his chin and turned away. In the endless game of "on again, off again," Sandburg was apparently off. Again. Now Jim would be in for more of the silent-and-twitchy treatment.

But Sandburg had been _on_ for a minute there. There was no mistaking a look like that. Was it possible he'd been misinterpreting Sandburg's odd behavior this past week? Maybe Sandburg didn't think Jim was lacking, but instead had mixed feelings.

But, no. That was just wishful thinking. Sandburg would have said something before now if he were interested in Jim. He wasn't exactly subtle in his pursuit of women; Jim had no reason to think Sandburg would be coy with a guy. No, more likely the look didn't mean anything at all. Jim was probably just reading into it what he wanted to see.

He couldn't take much more of this. They had to talk, even if he had to lock Sandburg in a holding cell to do it. Just, not yet. Not until Sandburg put on a shirt, at least. And they'd taken showers. Cold ones. Perhaps they should eat first, too. Beer might not be a bad idea. Although, come to think of it, he needed to focus for this little conversation, so maybe he'd save the beer for after. He'd need it.

Jim fortified himself with a swig of water. He splashed some onto his hand and wiped his face. Poured a little over his head. Finally deciding that he'd stalled long enough and it was time to get on with it already, Jim capped the water bottle and made his way back to Sandburg's side.

"Listen, Sandburg," he said, "we need to talk. I -"

"Good game, Blair!" Some guy from the opposing team - Dan or Don somebody who worked with Blair at the university - jogged over to where they were standing. Blair threw Jim a look full of relief and contrition and turned to talk with what's-his-name.

Jim hovered at the edge of their conversation for as long as he could stand being ignored. It wasn't long. He interrupted Don Juan without any feelings of remorse.

"I'm gonna hit the showers, Chief. I should be ready to go in ten, maybe fifteen minutes," he said, handing Sandburg the water bottle.

"Thanks, man," Sandburg said, gratefully accepting it. He tilted his chin toward the ceiling and slurped at the bottle, ignoring the water that spilled down his chin.

Jim tore his eyes away from this display. He resolutely walked in the direction of the locker room. He tried not to think about jumping Sandburg and licking sweat and spring water from his skin. Tried not to imagine the noises he'd make or the way he would taste.

It was a losing battle.

* * *

Half an hour later, the locker room was nearly empty. In the next aisle over, a couple of guys were talking about their wives as they got dressed. Water dripped steadily from one showerhead, plopping into a growing puddle. Blair sat alone on a wooden bench, a white towel slung around his hips.

He wrapped a second threadbare towel around his hair and squeezed the ends. Despite his best efforts to keep his hair out of the spray, it had gotten wet. It was a quick shower; just a brief lathering of soap in his pits and crotch. He'd rinsed the suds from his skin and climbed out a scant two minutes after he'd gotten in. No need to keep Jim waiting longer than he had to.

Blair had hung around chatting with Dan, a TA in the English department at Rainier, until Jim emerged from the locker room. It was a convenient escape from those terrifying words, "we need to talk." Plus he wanted to save himself some mental torment. He didn't need to see Jim naked, under a heated spray, surrounded by other naked guys in order to fuel his fantasies. He pretty much just needed to think about Jim to get all hot and bothered. He hadn't had so many illicit hard-ons since the ninth grade when Jenny Burns' love of low-cut necklines kept him up at night.

He still didn't know if he had a chance with Jim. Then again, it wasn't supposed to matter; he wasn't going to do anything about it. Problem was, his arguments against sleeping with Jim seemed increasingly weak. There was no way they'd hold up in a debate, so the honorable thing was to change the subject whenever it came up. He was _not_ going to ruin his data set and his career for a roll in the hay.

Blair wadded his towel onto the bench beside him and pulled a pair of boxers from his duffel bag. In the next aisle over, locker doors clanged shut and the two men clumped from the room. Blair stepped into a pair of blue jeans and reached for a white t-shirt, tucked it in and then zipped up.

These feelings were almost certainly a passing thing, right? Jim was his Holy Grail, and his excitement from finding him was being translated into sexual energy. That's all. It was just a little hero worship for the big guy who saved his life every so often, and all he had to do was wait it out.

He could almost believe that. Almost.

He shook out a black sweater and pulled it over his head. It felt weird to shut Jim down like this. He was always encouraging Jim to talk, tell him what he was sensing, share what amounted to "when I was a little boy" stories.

This was different. He'd been caught staring at Jim's chest. Blair was not about to talk it over with him. This matter was so not up for discussion. Absolutely no discussing would be taking place. Not if he could help it.

He desperately wanted to keep Jim's friendship. If Jim wasn't into former science nerds or whatever, then things might get...weird. He'd feel stupid mooning over his totally unavailable roommate; Jim would feel uncomfortable around him and, worse yet, sorry for him. They'd walk on eggshells around each other. Jim probably wouldn't be able to date anyone else out of respect for Blair's feelings. This would make them both irritable and frustrated. Eventually they'd fight all the time and Jim would politely ask Blair to find another place to live; they'd go their separate ways, Blair would end up living out of his office or a box on the side of the road or something, and he'd be ABD for the rest of his long and lonely life.

Which is why he absolutely could not talk about this with Jim.

Blair finished lacing up his shoes and haphazardly shoved his towels and clothes into his bag. When he opened the locker room door, he saw Jim leaning casually against the opposite wall. The form-fitting wine colored henley emphasized his broad chest. His long legs were crossed at the ankle; large hands shoved casually into his pockets. He looked beautiful. Arrogant. Fucking hot.

_Breathe_, Blair reminded himself. He took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall. He started walking toward the exit and Jim fell silently into step beside him.

They reached the Ford without uttering a word. Blair ducked his head against cold rain and waited for Jim to pop the locks. As soon as he could, he opened his door and stepped up into the cab. He shot a curious look at Jim. He'd sort of expected him to say something by now. Not that he was complaining about the reprieve.

Blair pulled the seatbelt across his chest and secured it with a _snick_. Beside him, Jim turned the key in the ignition and applied a little pressure to the gas pedal. The engine coughed, sputtered and roared to life. Jim clicked on the headlights and carefully pulled out of the YMCA parking lot. The windshield wipers worked methodically at the rain spattered windshield. Blair was just starting to relax - maybe Jim was just going to let it go - when Jim cleared his throat.

Shit.

Blair's self-protective instinct roared to life. He couldn't do this, couldn't have this conversation. Everything depended on not talking.

_Diversion_, he thought, _think diversion_. He quickly leaned forward and clicked on the scanner. Didn't matter that Jim was off duty. He had to do *some*thing to stop Jim from saying whatever it was he wanted to say. The scanner crackled and buzzed for a moment, and then the dispatcher began speaking.

Her disembodied voice filled the cab. "609 there now. Screaming woman." They were practically on top of the address the dispatcher gave. Jim _had_ to respond. Thank god for that predictable protect-the-tribe imperative. Blair congratulated himself on buying a little time as Jim keyed the microphone and took the call.

They were at the scene in less than five minutes. Blair trailed along behind Jim as they walked through the dark living room. He was feeling a little smug; thanks to his quick thinking, he was safe. No conversations taking place here, no sir. That feeling evaporated as soon as Jim pushed open the bathroom door. Somehow he hadn't made the mental leap from "screaming woman" to "open-eyed corpse in bathtub."

Her eyes, the way they were open like that, made her death seem that much more real. He shuddered and stepped back into the hall. Jim could handle it alone for once. Blair sat at the bottom of the staircase and concentrated on not gagging.

He scrubbed at his face with both hands. There was cold sweat on his skin. He put his head down between his knees and started on a calming breathing exercise. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Dimly he heard Jim talking on the cell phone. Calling forensics, maybe?

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

He heard Jim come out of the bathroom and walk over to where he was sitting.

Inhale. Felt Jim touch the back of his neck briefly. Hold. The brush of fingers was comforting rather than clinical. Exhale. Blair felt grateful when Jim didn't speak. He wasn't up to talking just yet. It was the shock. The horror of finding a dead body. He thought that seeing her - _it_ \- was worse than anything.

As it turned out, he was wrong.

* * *

Jim fucking hated this place. The plastic waiting room chairs were so fucking uncomfortable. Whole place reeked of antiseptic cleaning products. That, and fear. Plus, it hummed - no silence at all. There was a constant background noise of beeping, whooshing machines and rubber soles squeaking on linoleum.

The EMTs had strapped Sandburg onto a gurney and put him in the ambulance with barely a glance at Jim. Sandburg protested, said he was fine, but Jim had seen Lash force him to drink something. He insisted that Sandburg go to the ER. He wasn't going to take any more chances with him. Not now. Not after-

It was a close call. He'd nearly blown it, and Sandburg had almost died as a result. Made a man reevaluate a few things.

During the ambulance ride he held Sandburg's hand. Watched him become stoic, refusing to break down. His admiration for the man went up a notch. Then Sandburg tugged him close and whispered in his ear, "Hey, Jim - are you okay with the sirens, man?"

After everything that happened, Blair was worried about _Jim's_ welfare? For some strange reason, Jim couldn't respond to the inquiry. It felt like there was a vise around his chest and he couldn't inflate his lungs. His hands started shaking and he was humiliated to feel a sudden hot rush of tears. He ducked his head so Blair wouldn't see. He would _not_ cry. He would not.

He nodded once to show he was okay.

It was his unexpected emotional reaction that tipped Jim off. Made him realize his feelings for Sandburg went way beyond a little crush. This was not a casual buddy-fuck situation, this was serious stuff. This was love and commitment and all those other things that he'd pretty much given up on after Carolyn. This was...this was a desperate desire to get into Sandburg's pants as soon as possible and then keep on getting lucky till they were both old and gray.

Of course there was the little matter of Sandburg's feelings to consider.

Jim craned his neck, but he couldn't see past the green cotton curtains that were pulled around Sandburg's bed. He listened to the reassuring sound of Sandburg breathing. His heart thumped rhythmically, sounding out *a*live, *a*live with each beat. Thank god.

Jim listened vaguely to the PA system as it informed some doctor that he had a telephone call. A clock over the nurses' station told him he'd been waiting for an hour. Tingling in his legs let him know his circulation was constricted; he shifted again on the hard seat. Fucking torture devices. The muted hospital colors only added to his pain.

He hoped they'd release Sandburg soon.

The hands crept around the clock face for another hour before the ER doctor declared Sandburg well enough to leave. Jim watched a nurse flick open the curtains around Sandburg's bed. The kid looked incongruous in blue scrub pants and a sweater. His still-damp jeans were neatly folded on a chair beside the bed. His sock feet dangled above the floor; his hiking boots lay haphazardly nearby.

Jim reached Sandburg's side before he could reach for the shoes. "Let me help you with those, Cinderella," he said lightly.

Sandburg smiled slightly at the lame joke. "Hey, Prince Charming. Knock yourself out, man," he said, sitting back with a sigh and closing his eyes. He looked completely tapped out.

Jim hesitated a moment before kneeling down beside the bed and unlacing one heavy, battered boot. He took Sandburg's left foot in his hand and slipped it into the corresponding shoe. Bracing the foot against his stomach, he tied the laces. He repeated the process with Sandburg's right foot and then stood up.

"C'mon," he said quietly, "let's get you home." Sandburg nodded once and slid off the bed, swaying slightly when he gained his feet. Jim looked at him in concern, but the kid waved it away.

"I'm just tired, Jim," he said. "I'll be fine after a good night's sleep. I swear." Jim hesitated another moment, but decided to take him at his word. He sure as hell didn't want to spend another second in the waiting room from hell.

He handed Sandburg his coat and turned toward the exit. The automatic doors slid apart as they approached. The night outside was lit by a large, red EMERGENCY sign above the doors. Sandburg stepped out into the faintly flickering pool of light. His features were gilded red. He looked up at Jim.

Sandburg said nothing at first, and then, "Thanks, man. I...you know, I hoped you'd show up, but..." he looked away, staring intently at the ground. "I guess...I didn't know if.... Whatever, man. Just thank you." Jim reached out and pulled the kid into an awkward one-armed hug. Snugged him up against his side and held on. Pressed his face against Sandburg's hair and inhaled the smell of living, breathing Blair.

"You were doing great," Jim told him honestly. "I heard you, you know. You kept your cool. Kept him talking. You did everything right." Yellow cabs parked near the entrance looked like the segmented body of a large metal millipede. He started walking toward the curb, keeping one arm around Blair's shoulders.

"You heard me? From how far away?" Sandburg seemed pleased and interested. "Did you hear when I told that freak he couldn't be me? It was like, suddenly I just knew - total flash of insight, man. It was amazing."

Jim answered somewhat absently as he hailed a cab. The car at the front of the line rolled slowly towards them. He bent down to give the driver directions, carefully toning down the stench of stale cigarette smoke as he did so. During the trip home, his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts jumped back and forth between wondering how on earth to start the conversation he needed to have with Sandburg and seeing Sandburg chained up in Lash's chair.

"Earth to Ellison," he dimly heard Sandburg saying. Jim looked up, startled.

"What?" he asked stupidly before taking in their surroundings. They were in front of 852 Prospect. "Oh. Oh, sorry," Jim mumbled, fumbling with his wallet so he could pay the cabbie. He chose to ignore the funny look Sandburg was sending his way.

"You alright, man?" Sandburg asked him as soon as the cab pulled away from the curb. "Is it your senses?"

"I'm fine," Jim answered shortly. He held the door open for Sandburg, eliciting another funny look.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're acting kind of strange." Sandburg was like a pitbull with something in its teeth; once he got an idea into his head, he couldn't just let it drop.

"I said I'm _fine_, Chief. Give it a rest already." Jim viciously jabbed the UP button to call the elevator.

"That's what I'm talking about," Sandburg persisted. "Jim, you never use the elevator, man."

Jim felt his face heat slightly. He angled himself away from Sandburg so the kid couldn't see his face. "I just thought...you seem kind of tired," he muttered under his breath. The kid apparently chose that moment to develop sentinel senses, though, because he heard the words.

"Oh." Sandburg seemed willing to stop this line of questioning. They rode up to the third floor in silence.

Too much silence between them, Jim thought. They were probably both too tired to hash this thing out properly but he didn't think he could sleep if he didn't at least tell Sandburg how he felt. He decided to just say his bit and then let the kid go to bed. They could deal with the fallout later.

He spoke just as the elevator opened onto their floor. "Chief."

Sandburg, halfway out onto the landing, looked inquiringly over his shoulder.

"I, uh..."Well, he was off to a great start. At this rate, he'd get to the punchline by the time they were ninety. The door began to slide closed, touched Sandburg's shoulder and opened again. Jim started and followed Sandburg out of the elevator.

"Um. I..." They came to the door of 307, which was leaned up against the wall. The loft was a mess. Jim hadn't wasted a second on cleaning it up. He'd been too intent on finding Sandburg. They stood in the hall, looking in at the devastation Lash had left in his wake. The sight gave Jim the courage he needed to say his piece.

"When I got here and saw this, I...I was...I mean, I felt..." _Be a man, Ellison_, Jim chastised himself. _Spit it out_. "I was scared shitless, Chief. I was so afraid of finding you in a tub somewhere."

"I hear that, man. I was kind of scared for a minute there myself."

Jim acknowledged this with a nod, and plowed on. "The thing is, it got me thinking." He paused. Blair was watching him intently. "I've always thought you were..." He stopped again.

"I was what? A pain in the ass? Too smart for my own good? God's gift to women? What?" Blair asked impatiently.

"Really attractive." Beside him, Blair drew in a sharp breath. Jim couldn't stand still under his scrutiny. He walked into the loft and started picking up debris just to give himself something to do. Maintain his momentum. "I've had this, uh, thing for you. A crush, I guess." Sandburg was following him, helping him pick up couch cushions and straighten up the living room.

"So...what? Tonight made you rethink that?" Blair's voice was studiously casual. Jim shot him a look. The kid was looking pale. His jaw was clenched and he wasn't making eye-contact. He must be more tired than he'd let on.

"Well, yes. Sort of." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sandburg jerk his head up and down in an awkward nod. Jim took a deep breath. "A crush isn't anything big, right? It's just a transient feeling. The thing is, Chief..." Here it came. This wasn't going to be easy. "When I thought...when I didn't know what happened to you, I...it was bad, Blair. Really fucking bad."

Blair started to say something and Jim cut him off with a wave of his hand. If he stopped talking now, he might never start again. "I didn't think...if you died, Chief, I don't think I could handle that. I can't picture going back to how things were before you came." Jim steeled himself and looked into Blair's eyes. Sandburg wasn't even blinking.

"What are you saying, Jim?" he asked quietly.

"I'm saying I think I love you." There. It was out. He continued doggedly. "And I couldn't stand it if...anything bad happened to you." Jim forced himself to keep looking into Sandburg's wide, wide eyes. "And I understand if you don't feel the same way. You don't have to..."

He stopped there. His supply of words dried up and he couldn't think of a single thing to say next.

"Jim, I - I don't know what to say," Sandburg said.

_Join the club, pal_, Jim thought to himself.

Out loud, he said, "We don't have to finish this tonight. It's late, and you've had a rough day."

"Don't coddle me, Jim. Shut up and let me talk for a second, okay?"

Jim shut up.

"I haven't exactly been...forthcoming lately," Sandburg said.

_No shit, Sandburg_. Jim kept his mouth shut and nodded for him to continue.

"And...well, I'm sorry about that. I guess I've been feeling sort of conflicted. You know, because you're my research subject and everything, it didn't - _doesn't_ \- seem ethical to be involved with you, you know, like that. But, you know -" Sandburg looked away. The corners of his mouth quivered like he was suppressing a smile. "It's not like I haven't thought about trying to get somewhere with you. Like, all the time."

Jim just stared, incredulous. "Then what's the deal with the mixed messages, Chief? You've been jerking me around for weeks."

"I said `conflicted,' Jim." Sandburg paused, a pile of papers he'd salvaged from the floor gripped tightly in his hand. "As in `conflict'?" He set the paper down on the coffee table and reached for a fallen mug.

He wasn't even denying it. Jim swallowed back his irritation, determined to hear him out.

"Look, you're stunning, okay? But sleeping with you would have an impact on the reliability of my test data. And my objectivity would be shot to hell, and..." Sandburg paused to draw a breath. "So, I guess what I mean to say is: I don't know. What to do. About this, I mean," he gestured to the two of them. "About us."

"And you didn't think I might like to know that? Jesus, Sandburg -" Jim stopped abruptly. This was getting them nowhere.

He could see the dark circles under Sandburg's eyes from half-way across the dark loft. The kid looked ready to topple over at any minute. This was obviously not the time for this discussion.

"It's late. We're both tired. Why don't we finish this in the morning?" he asked in a more reasonable tone.

Sandburg looked mulish for a moment, but gave in without protest. That confirmed it for Jim; Blair _was_ more tired than he'd admitted. No way he'd just give up under normal circumstances. Jim watched Sandburg pick his way through the mess to his room. Once he had disappeared inside, Jim turned his attention to fitting the front door back into its frame.

* * *

Blair flipped onto his side. His pillow was lumpy. He spent a few minutes futzing with it before lying back down.

Thirty seconds later, he rolled onto his back. His legs were tangled in his sheet, so he had to sit up and straighten out his bedding. He flopped down onto his left side.

That put his back to the curtained doorway. His skin started to crawl; something might be sneaking up on him right this very second and he'd never know until it grabbed him from behind. He sneaked a look over his shoulder. Nothing. He could never be too sure, though, so he rolled over onto his right side.

That made the pillow bunch uncomfortably again. He punched it into a better shape.

It was hot in his tiny room. Blair irritably shoved the blankets off. Before long, his feet were cold. He fished around at the bottom of his bed until he felt the discarded blankets and tugged them up over his legs.

He closed his eyes. Even through his lids, he could see red light from his alarm clock's digital display. How on earth could he get to sleep with that thing shining so brightly? He opened his eyes. Sat up. Clicked on the lamp on his bedside table. Picked up the clock and moved the display button to the dimmest setting possible. Put it back, turned off the light and lay down.

He was hot again. He stripped off his t-shirt and threw it across the room. Ten minutes later he was crawling around in the dark trying to find it.

Four in the morning and he couldn't fucking sleep. He punched the pillow again, even though it wasn't the least bit lumpy this time.

He was tired. Exhaustion burned his eyes. His bones ached with it. All he needed was some fucking _rest_. Problem was, his mind just wouldn't shut up. Every time he lay down, his thoughts started churning. He kept flashing back to what Jim had said in the living room.

That changed things, didn't it? He stared blindly up at the dark ceiling, looking at the place where Jim was sleeping. Bringing love into the equation made everything different. Because if they weren't talking about fooling around for a while and then going their separate ways.... Well, it changed things, that's all.

Blair didn't really believe in love-ever-after. Look who he'd learned from: Naomi never let the dust settle on her, that's for sure. But sometimes, Blair wished he had some roots, a place of his own. He'd made a career out of spending time with tribes where he didn't fit, because it was easier than admitting that he didn't fit with his _own_ tribe. He didn't have anyplace to belong.

Sometimes he thought he belonged here. But he knew it wasn't realistic. They couldn't be roommates forever. Blair knew that, he wasn't stupid. But he didn't want to leave. He didn't want to be on his own again. He hated being on the outside. He'd been on the outside forever.

Now Jim was offering him a chance at a place of his own. But could he trust it?

Because if it was real, if Jim was serious.... If Jim was serious, then this thing between them might outlast the dissertation. And if that was the case, if they weren't talking a casual fling but a long-term commitment, then maybe it was worth it. Maybe he should take the chance. On the other hand...

By the time Blair woke up, Jim had left for the station.

A vague sense of urgency rushed Blair through his morning routine. He put on a pot of coffee and showered while it brewed. He dressed in record time. Inhaled a bagel without tasting it and toweled his hair dry.

The thing was, he still hadn't come to a decision. All he knew was he had to talk to Jim right away.

During the drive to the station, he realized he was going to do it. It might be the biggest mistake of his life, but somehow ignoring it seemed worse. There was a chance for something real here, something meaningful. He couldn't let that pass him by.

The bullpen was crowded with people when Blair arrived. Someone had dragged a cart with a TV on it into the room. People from several different departments were clustered around, talking. The TV, which was muted at the moment, was tuned to a news broadcast.

Jim was sitting at the front of the crowd, laughing with a uniform cop Blair didn't recognize. A faded gray t-shirt stretched taut across Jim's chest, making Blair's mouth water. When Jim saw Blair walk into the room, he scooted over to make room beside him. Blair made his way to Jim's side just as someone turned the sound on. It was coverage on the Lash case. He sat down, conscious of Jim's warmth against his side.

Throughout the broadcast, Blair's mind wandered. _Be serious about this_, he thought. _Please. Be serious_.

Simon clicked off the television and people began drifting back to their desks. Blair saw his chance to speak.

"Did you mean what you said last night?" he asked. Jim looked around at his colleagues. When his response came, it was clear that he'd deliberately misunderstood Blair's question.

"Yeah. You kept your head, even when you thought you were going to die," he said.

Blair had kind of thought he could just get the conversational ball rolling, wait for Jim to give him an appropriate opening and then say that, yeah, he was on board. That he thought he could maybe love Jim back. That he was willing to give the whole committed-relationship thing a try and see where it got them.

Apparently it wouldn't be that easy.

Blair tried to be subtle. They were, after all, in the middle of the bullpen. Jim worked with these people. Hell, he'd been _married_ to Carolyn. Maybe it wasn't the right time or place to out him to all of his colleagues. So, Blair spouted some bullshit about Blessed Protectors in China.

Jim didn't get the hint, though. Inexplicably, he told Blair to call Christine and make up. Blair briefly wondered, _Christine who_? When he finally made the connection, he was surprised. Jim was way off base. God, wasn't he paying attention? Last night he declared his love and today he was brushing Blair off? Uh-uh. No way.

Blair just had to be a bit more obvious, that's all. "Speaking of commitment, Jim," he started as they made their way to the elevator, "I've been thinking of getting a Cascade PD insignia tattooed on my chest."

Did he have to spell it out, here? He loved the man, but he had to admit that Jim picked the worst times to be obtuse.

Whoa. Stop. Rewind. He loved Jim. Not like brothers, not like "thanks for saving my life, man," but like _love_. He wasn't going to have to work at being committed to Jim; he was already there, he just hadn't realized it. He was so distracted by this realization that he nearly missed hearing Jim's response.

"...the nipple ring?" he was asking.

"Wait, how did you know about that?" Blair said, bemused. This conversation had gone horribly awry, but he was fascinated nonetheless.

He followed Jim into the empty elevator. Jim didn't answer his question. He also didn't respond to Blair's declaration. Shit. Jim was going to make him say it out loud, wasn't he?

Blair gave it one last try with the metaphors, making some lame crack about getting a badge pinned to his ear. _Come on_, he thought desperately, _I'm saying something here. Pay_ attention, _for god's sake_.

No good. Jim just laughed.

He lost his opportunity to say anything more direct when a forensics team entered the elevator. The lobby was also too crowded for personal disclosure. They ate lunch with half of Major Crimes - making private conversation impossible - before returning to the bullpen. The rest of the day, Blair was alert for any chance to talk to Jim. Several times he thought he saw an opening, but each time something came up and he didn't say a word.

He had no intention of saying anything during the hostage crisis that popped up when they were getting sodas at the 7-11 on Edgemont. For one thing, there was too much going on; men with guns, the ambience frankly sucked.

But something in him snapped when he saw Jim sneaking around to the store's rear entrance. Jim's back - sans kevlar vest - looked horribly vulnerable as he retreated into the dark alleyway. Blair's stomach knotted. What if something happened? What if Jim didn't make it?

Before he could stop himself, he whispered, "Jim, be careful, man. I love you."

Jim paused, starting to turn towards Blair. Stopped halfway. He nodded shortly without looking back and then disappeared around the brick corner.

Blair lifted the cell phone and dialed the station without looking at the keypad. He knew the number by heart. He strained to hear what was happening inside as he requested back up. He stood by the truck, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited for the squad cars to show up . Their sirens sounded far away. Just as he saw flashing red lights at the corner, he heard gunshots. Three - _pop-pop-pop_ \- in quick succession.

Squad cars squealed to a stop in front of the store. A uniformed officer grabbed Blair as he darted for the front doors. He staggered back. Countered with an elbow to the guy's gut. Lurched forward out of the cop's grip.

And then the cop's partner sacked him. It was a clean tackle and he dropped like a stone. Air whooshed out of his lungs. His head smacked against asphalt. He kept struggling even as his vision grayed out.

The cop shifted his nearly 300 pounds of combined body and equipment weight off Blair's chest. Blair wheezed in a breath. Bright fluorescent lights in the store windows gradually swam into focus.

The 7-11's doors swung open. A panicked clerk and three customers dashed for safety. Moments later, Jim casually sauntered out with a handcuffed perp in tow. There were no obvious bullet wounds on either of them.

Blair waited until he was certain his legs wouldn't give out on him before standing and making his way to the truck to wait for Jim.

* * *

Jim stepped into the dark loft behind Blair. The kid had been mostly silent during the drive home; he nursed the goose egg that swelled at his hairline while Jim filled the air with a blow-by-blow of the take-down. Jim had run out of things to say two blocks before Prospect. There was only one question left.

Jim dropped his keys onto the counter and hung up his coat. Blair drifted aimlessly to the refrigerator, pulled out two beers and handed one to Jim. Jim didn't open his.

"Did you mean what you said back there at the 7-11?" he asked. He fiddled with the label on his bottle. He half expected Sandburg to deflect the question.

Sandburg turned to look at him. "Yeah, Jim," he said. "I've been trying to tell you all day, but you wouldn't hear me."

Jim was stunned. "You what?"

"You were kinda obtuse in the bullpen," Sandburg shrugged, "so I tried saying something in the elevator..."

"Wait, forget it. That's not important. You really meant it?" It was the answer Jim wanted to hear, even if it wasn't the one he expected.

A slow smile stretched across Sandburg's face. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I really meant it." Jim felt himself smiling in response.

They stood in the darkness grinning at each other until Sandburg broke the moment by yawning hugely.

"Way to boost my ego, Chief."

"Sorry, Jim. I slept maybe five hours out of the last seventy-two, so..." The sentence trailed off into another yawn. Sandburg shrugged sheepishly.

"Yeah, I should probably..." Jim gestured vaguely over his shoulder in the direction of the stairs. Neither of them moved. Another minute ticked by. Their grins slowly faded and still they stared at each other.

"Listen, do you want to-" Jim began tentatively at the same moment Blair said, "Um, would it be okay if I...kissed you?"

Jim nodded slowly. He had the distant feel of a sleepwalker. Despite Blair's admission, the weeks of wondering were still weighing him down. Blair was backlit; a blue wash from streetlights transformed the loft into a dreamscape. Sandburg seemed to be moving towards him in slow motion. Jim's senses were muted; he couldn't hear anything above his own heartbeat.

One last slow step and Sandburg's body was hard against him. Sandburg reached up with his large, square hands. Jim felt each callused fingertip press against his cheeks and took a deep breath. Sandburg was looking at his mouth, was leaning closer, closing his eyes, closing in... Jim felt an implacable shift in the natural order, as exhilarating and terrifying as an earthquake.

His eyes slid shut and abruptly his senses popped into focus. Blair's thighs flexed as he shifted his weight; Jim felt the muscles move against him. He cupped Blair's jaw in one hand, lightly fingering the dusting of sharp, black stubble. Felt the press of Blair's lips against his own. The hint of wet heat behind them. Smelled everything he'd come to identify with Blair - coffee and herbs and incense. Old books and fresh ink. Musk.

The kiss was just a gentle brush of lips, so light it was dizzying. Jim slid his hands up to tangle in Sandburg's crazy hair. Tugged him closer. He wanted to consecrate this moment that had already changed him, changed the immutable fact of loneliness. Jim exhaled Love you into Blair's open mouth. Followed the words in with a sweep of his tongue. Heard a reply in the wet sounds they were making. Blair hummed into Jim's mouth; the vibration trembled through him.

He could happily spend eternity just like this. Spend forever with this man. Jim was hard but he wasn't in a hurry. He pulled back from Blair's mouth only to immediately go back for more. He tasted the inside of Blair's lip, earning a short gasp. Traced the smooth line of his teeth. Dropped kisses on Sandburg's forehead, eyelids.

The kiss turned suddenly urgent when Jim realized again how close he had come to losing Blair. Blair clutched fistfuls of his t-shirt, holding him tight. Jim had one hand clamped to the small of Blair's back, the other buried in Blair's hair. He sucked at Blair's tongue and rocked his hips forward, pressing his erection against Sandburg's thigh. Jim realized with some surprise that he was trembling.

Sandburg leaned back in his arms. His lips were puffy, eyelids at half-mast. He exhaled heavily, sucked in another breath.

"Jim," he said, "I want to do this right, man, but I think I'm gonna fall over. Could I maybe get a raincheck? Like in the morning?"

Jim blinked. Struggled to switch gears. "Forget it, Sandburg," he said. "This is a one-time-only offer. It's now or never."

Blair stared at him for a moment. Jim's lips twitched and Sandburg was suddenly laughing.

"Fuck you!" he said, giving Jim a shove.

"Had you going for a minute there."

"Well, yeah. Kinda," Blair said, still snickering. "You know it's unfair to mess with the sleep-deprived, Jim."

"Yeah, says who?" Jim stole another kiss.

"I think there's a rule. Somewhere. Or something." Blair kissed him back.

And in the middle of it, Jim realized he was kissing a yawning man.

"Sandburg."

"Sorry, man. I'm just, you know-"

"About to fall over?"

"Well, yeah."

Jim couldn't help himself. He pulled Blair into another hug. Pressed a kiss to his temple.

"Why don't you sleep with me tonight?" he asked. "Maybe you'll get lucky and I'll let you collect on that raincheck in the morning." Blair muffled his snort of laughter against Jim's chest.

Jim slung an arm around Blair's shoulders and guided him toward the stairs. At the bottom, Blair stopped and looked up at him.

"What, you aren't gonna, like, whisk me up the stairs in your arms? I gotta tell you, I'm disappointed, man."

"Frankly, Scarlett," Jim deadpanned, "I planned on sending you up ahead so I could check out your ass."

"Oh. Well, okay, then." Blair started up.

They undressed in easy silence. After glancing in Jim's direction, Blair carefully folded his clothes and set them on the floor under the bedside table. He stood in his boxers beside the bed, shifting his weight uncertainly.

"Um, which side should I...?" Blair asked.

"You can sleep over there." Jim pointed to the side closest to the stairs. Blair immediately pulled back the covers and settled in. As soon as Jim got in the other side, Blair scooted up against him. Settled his head on Jim's shoulder and fell asleep almost immediately.

Blair snored. It was sort of cute, Jim thought. Just this once. They'd have to figure something out for the future.


End file.
